Chapter 19
DELANEY
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
And one more for good measure – fuck!
That was not supposed to happen – the thing that I really wanted to happen and accidentally on purpose made happen. Or at least played my part. I can’t lay the blame solely on Nick – this is on me as much as him.
I speed-walk back to the hotel, Nick right beside me and neither of us speaking. I’m guessing, like me, he’s beating himself up and feels sick to his stomach about cheating.
I’m not a cheater. Only, turns out I am.
When we get to the door of the suite, Nick places his hand on my shoulder.
‘Delaney, wait.’
I turn but I can’t bring myself to look at him. Because if he’s looks at me the way he did on that bench, then I cannot be held responsible for my actions. Well, I can – but…
‘Do you want me to find somewhere else to sleep tonight?’
That’s not what I expected and I meet his eye. ‘No – there isn’t anywhere.’
‘There might be – a bunk in a hostel or staff quart—’
‘But you don’t have to—’
His loud sigh cuts me off.
‘Do you want to sleep someplace else?’ I ask.
‘Truth?’
‘Always,’ I reply instinctively.
‘I don’t want to sleep somewhere else. And I don’t want to sleep with a wall of pillows between us.’
‘What do you want?’ I ask in a hoarse whisper.
‘I want to take you inside, and slowly undress you, and touch my lips to every part of you, and make love to you, and hold you as you climax, then make love to you all over again until we fall asleep, sweaty and exhausted, with your head on my chest.’
I go to speak, but all that comes out is a squeak – I’m a mouse that’s been let loose in a cheese factory.
‘But because we’re both with other people,’ he continues, ‘I’m not going to do that – we’re not going to do that. But I’m also not sharing a bed with you. I can’t – it’d be torture.’
I’m positive my eyes are the size of dinner plates right now and my words have completely dried up.
‘Look,’ he says, grabbing the back of his neck and scowling, ‘it’s probably too late to find somewhere else anyway, so I’ll sleep out on the balcony tonight and we’ll sort out a better solution tomorrow. Okay?’
‘Are you su—’
‘I’m sure.’
Then he reaches around me and unlocks the door because I still haven’t collected the key I handed back to reception on day one.
We go inside and someone’s been in for turn-down service – the lamps cast a warm glow throughout the suite and the bed is turned down on each side, our pillow fort yet to be assembled. Only tonight, we won’t need it.
‘Uh, do you mind if I use the bathroom first?’ Nick asks.
‘No, no, go ahead.’
He nods curtly, grabs a few things from his duffel, and goes into the bathroom. I stand in the middle of the living room, looking around like John Travolta in that meme, wondering what the hell to do with myself.
Megan – I should call Megan. She might yell at me, but she’ll be a voice of reason. Which I need, even if I don’t want it – like broccoli for the soul.
I take my phone out of my purse and go outside, pacing the length of the balcony while I wait for her to pick up.
‘Hey,’ she says after three rings.
‘Hey.’
‘Uh-oh, what’s going on?’
I snort out softly. ‘You can tell something’s up from one syllable?’
‘Um, hello? That’s insulting.’
‘I kissed Nick. Or he kissed me. We kissed.’
‘Ooh. Was it hot?’
‘Are you kidding me, Megs?’ I hiss. ‘I’m freaking out here.’
‘Calm down, drama queen.’
‘The absolute worst thing to say to someone to make them calm down.’
‘I looked him up, you know,’ she says, abruptly changing the subject.
‘Who? Nick?’
‘Yes. Stunt coordinator, Nick James. I mean, holy shit – you weren’t kidding about the whole superhero thing. Did you know he doubled for Henry Cavill?’
‘Wait, what?’
‘In Man of Steel – as in, he actually is Superman. You kissed Superman, Laney. Oh my god,’ she says, starting to laugh. ‘You’re Lois – Lois Lane-y and he’s frigging Superman,’ she says, barely getting the words out because she’s laughing her ass off.
‘Megan – Megs.’
‘Phoof,’ she sighs, chuckling to herself, ‘I haven’t had a laugh like that in—’
‘Please, what do I do here?’
‘Okay, okay – let’s think about this,’ she says, switching effortlessly into sensible-mom mode. ‘You kissed and I’m guessing it was hot or you wouldn’t be having kittens right now – am I right?’
‘Mm-hmm,’ I say, pacing again.
‘And you both want more?’
‘Mmm, yep – but we’re also attached and neither of us want to do the wrong thing here. Nick’s even going to sleep out on the balcony.’
‘Okay, good – keep your distance till you figure this out. And how are things with Nicholas?’
‘Ugh,’ I groan, pausing to lean against the railing. I check inside for Nick but the bathroom door’s still closed.
‘That good, huh?’
‘He left a voicemail asking me to come to London after Capri.’
‘Are you going?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you want to go?’
‘I…’ I trail off.
‘And that’s your answer. Look, if you’re really into this guy and you don’t want to see your boyfriend, why not break up with Nicholas, Nick breaks up with whatsername—’
‘Pippa.’
‘Pippa – and you two sleep together.’
‘That’s… It’s not that simple,’ I say, wishing like hell it was.
‘Or it is that simple and you’re making it more complicated than it needs to be.’
‘He’s engaged.’
‘Who is, Nick?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s engaged – to be married?’ she asks.
‘Yes.’
‘To Pippa in Iceland?’
‘Yeah. But it’s worse than that.’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘She planned a surprise wedding – in Iceland. And Nick’s brother and sister-in-law are there and Pippa’s parents and her sister.
Anyway, they’re all in Iceland and Nick was supposed to be there and they were going to get married this week.
Married, Megs. So, it’s not just my shit standing in the way. ’
‘Geez, Louise… That’s messed u—’
‘It’s even more messed up because Nick doesn’t know that I know – about the wedding, I mean.’
‘Then how do you?’ she asks.
‘You’re gonna love this – Nicholas told me.’
‘Oh my god. Only you could go on vacation and land a starring role in The Real Housewives of the EU.’
I don’t respond. I was hoping that talking to Megan would make it better – that she’d help me make sense of all this – but I feel sick. Sicker.
‘Oh, hon, I’m sorry – that was mean.’
I swallow the lump in my throat, blinking back tears.
‘That’s okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
I hang up, interrupting her goodbye.
I wish I was home. I wish I was back in my modest-but-familiar apartment, curled up on my sofa with microwave popcorn and a glass of California Zin, watching How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days.
More like, how to lose a guy in four days.
Because I can’t have Nick – he’s engaged. And while he may not want to get married – something he’s yet to admit, but I’m positive about – he made a promise to Pippa and I am not going to be that woman.
There’s also Nicholas. A man who’s made zero promises and hasn’t asked for any, who treats what I’ve been calling a ‘relationship’ like a casual fling, a convenience. I’m his ‘friend from America’ who he sees from time to time and has sex with. And not even very good sex.
I bet sex with Nick would be out of this frigging world.
‘All yours.’
Nick’s voice is like an electric shock, jolting me back to the present. He’s standing in the doorway, holding a comforter and a couple of pillows.
‘Thanks.’
I hurry past him, then go into the bathroom and get ready for bed.
When I drag the covers over me, the bed feels huge and empty. No pillow fort. No Nick. And it’s more than an hour before I fall asleep.
* * *
I wake early after yet another shitty night’s sleep and climb out of bed, tiptoeing to the window and peeking through the sheer curtains.
Nick’s on one the loungers on his side, curled into a ball. The comforter has slipped onto the tiled floor and he looks cold, which might be why he’s in the foetal position. I consider going out there and covering him up, but only for a second. He’s not mine to look after.
He stirs and I leap away from the window, even though there’s no way he saw me.
I don’t want to be here when he gets up – I am nowhere near ready to have the conversation we need to have – so I forage for shorts and a T-shirt, then go into the bathroom to shower.
After the fastest shower in history – I barely needed a towel – I brush my teeth, slap on some moisturiser, and scoop my hair into a messy bun.
I crack the bathroom door and peer around the doorframe and – of course – Nick’s sitting on the sofa. So much for escaping before he woke up.
Oblivious that I’m watching him, he rubs sleep out of his eyes, gives in to a yawn, then grabs his injured shoulder and rolls it a few times, his yawn transforming into a wince.
He really needs to get that looked at – and not sleep outside on a crappy sun lounger.
I should have offered to sleep on the sofa and given him the bed.
I don’t want him to catch me spying on him, so I go back inside the bathroom, very quietly close the door, then loudly turn the knob and clear my throat as I walk into the bedroom.
‘Oh, good morning,’ he says.
‘Good morning to you too, sleepy head,’ I say like a hopped-up kindergarten teacher. I freeze, clocking the amusement on his face. ‘Sorry.’
‘Now who’s the dork?’ He stretches his arm along the back of the sofa, clearly enjoying the shoe being on the other foot.
‘Yeah, that was lame. So… how was it out there?’ I ask, hitching my thumb towards the window.
‘On par with the Deadfall shoot.’
‘Worse than sleeping on the ground? I’m really sorry.’
‘For what?’ he asks.
Great question, Nick! I’m sorry for shoving my tongue down your throat and lusting after you and maybe even falling for you a little when I have no frigging right to.
‘For not sleeping on the sofa,’ I reply.
He holds up a hand. ‘Eh, I’ll live. Are you done in there?’ he asks, nodding at the bathroom door.
‘Yes – absolutely! Go for it.’
God, now I sound like a frigging cheerleader.